Instant Hero Just Add Water
by Becky C
Summary: My name is Marlin Mason. I know that you hate me already. I agree. 'cus I've just landed myself a quest to free Annabeth from some curse, my siblings are crazy, Eros wants to kill me and have I mentioned Chai Luto yet...Chapter 4 has arrived!
1. I Decide Murphy Hates Me

Instant Hero: Just Add Water

This is the tale of

MARLIN MASON

HIS SIBLINGS

A VIOLINIST

AND AN ARROGANT GIT WITH WINGS.

ENJOY THE RIDE.

AN: To those of you who have read this story before, you will of course notice that this is an edited version. It is significantly different from the original one, in ways I will leave as surprises. I decided to change this story because I felt it could be much better with the skills I have now which I didn't have when I started it, and the chapters are chopped up into little bite-sized portions. I hope it's an improvement!

**Chapter One: I Decide Murphy Hates Me**

Take a little dander down Long Island, and you'll probably see a peaceful strawberry farm down a beautiful valley.

Or, at least, that's what _you'll _see.

I saw a satyr with ginger hair like copper wires bounding up a hill, hooves going _clickety CLACK _in time with my confused heart beats.

"So…this place…is for…"

"People like you, as such," the satyr replied, with pride. His chestnut eyes were filled with a triumph I didn't understand.

"You mean people who think they can see barnyard animals with human bodies on top?"

"Bla-a-a-a-a-a!" the satyr bleated angrily, scowling at me scarily, which only confirmed my suspicions that he was a crazy psycho. "I'm not a barnyard animal with a human body! I'm not a barnyard animal or a human either! Get your facts right!"

"Fine, jeez!" I said.

"And you don't _think _you can see me. You _can _see me."

"Did you put magic mushrooms in my cheeseburger?" I asked suspiciously.

"NO!" he barked, stamping his hoof on a rock, making a deafening _crack! _that rippled throughout the valley.

I swam through the silence, and drowned.

I suppose you want to know just who the heck I am. And I suppose I'll just tell you, because both ways I know and you know you're gonna make my life hell. People who walk across my path tend to. Heck, they _like _to ruin my day. Especially the nosy types like you.

My name is Marlin Mason, professional loser.

I have long wavy auburn hair which I suppose is unnatural for guys like me, since it makes me look like a girl. I know that because I look at myself in the mirror everyday, and say to myself, "Please, God. Why."

My least favourite feature is my eyes. They're two huge green things that stick out like mutant caterpillars. If you gouged them out and stuck them on a wall, I bet they'd glow in the dark too. Hell, I can see it now; the all new ultimate flashlight to rule them all. Me.

I wear casual things. Tee-shirts, overalls, coats, sneakers. Simple. I get out and about more often than your average kid, for the reason that buildings suck ass. I don't know why I think like that, it's just always been a fixture in my mind that I have to get very, very far away from wherever I am, or get my gardening mitts on and dig up some soil with a blunt, no nonsense shovel. And kill logs with mah Über-chopzorz axin' skillz.

It's amusing, and I don't know why.

Is it just me, or do I _ever _have any idea about _anything _I ever do?

For example….

I have no idea what started this hare-brained wild goose chase to Long Island. Maybe it was because I met this goat – I mean, satyr – called Murphy at my School for Total Nutjobs who told me I was no ordinary mortal. Maybe it was because a bunch of weird stuff worthy of the X-Files had followed me around all my life, and this crazy explanation had a crumb of sense in it. Maybe it was because I'd never known who my real mother was, except what I knew from my father, whose emotional cliffs tended to crumble like the walls of Troy whenever I asked him about her.

Maybe it was because the Olympian gods are still alive and kicking and are just as irritable as they were three thousand years ago.

It might be just that.

"Well then, hurry up. We're almost there." Murphy ordered, arms crossed as he reached the top of the hill.

"Almost _where_?" I asked, panting. "How huge is this hill, anyway?"

"Quit complaining, you."

"Why are you always nasty to me?"

"I'm not being nasty to you; I'm just stating simple fact."

"You _are_ being nasty to me! You're barking and ordering and bleating and other-ing and – aack!" Murphy grabbed me by the collar of my tee-shirt, brow twisted into an irate ripple.

"Listen here, you!"

"I _am_ listening!"

"Good!" He released me and shoved me back, sighing and muttering to himself.

I stared at him, scowling.

"What was that for?"

"To make sure you were listening."

"No, I meant the shoving thing."

"To make sure you were listening." He repeated in a bored tone.

"But I _am _listening!" I protested. "And just what am I supposed to be listening to, anyway?"

"The music, dumbass!"

"Wha-"

Indeed, there was a faint jingle in the air; a merry, floaty tune that I figured was being played by a wind instrument; panpipes, perhaps?

"Yes!" Murphy cried happily. "They know we're here! C'mon!"

"Uh-"

Just as he made for my arm, I caught a quick glimpse of a huge pine tree behind me, bristling with healthy green needles; I could've sworn I saw a flash of gold on its bough, and a baby dragon pacing around the tree's base excitably.

My eyes widened.

"Are you _sure _you didn't put magic mushrooms in my-"

"SHUT UP!"

-

AN: I hope to update this story daily (or at least very frequently) so please keep me on my toes with much needed criticism. Toodles! XD


	2. I Deny the Existence of the Gods

**Chapter Two: I Deny the Existence of God(s)**

"So…ummmmmmmmmmmmmm…..what do you call this-"

"Camp Half-Blood."

What can I say?

What can I say

Except it took my breath away?

And why does it seem

That this dream

Appears to rhyme

At this

Moment

In time?

The moment

Won't ever leave me,

Oh no,

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh -

Okay, after that rather pointless interval, I suppose I should say exactly what the hell I'm talking about.

Camp Half-Blood.

The wind tasted vaguely of strawberries, and as I followed the scent my eyes hit rows and rows of strawberries arranged in a dainty field.

It was so beautiful, I think I cried.

Or died, judging from the rest of the camp.

Just then, a posse of burly, armour clad kids marched straight past me, giggling right at my face and waving their bronze swords underneath my chin, before stamping off to a sandpit to wrestle with each other.

I was freaking petrified.

"The kids. They have…swords."

"Yes."

"Dude, that's not normal."

"It is here."

"What sort of place _is this_?" I cried in exasperation.

Murphy smiled, and then said in a triumphant voice, as if he'd created the place: "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, O Marlin Mason. A place where the children of the gods gather in safety to train for battle against the forces of evil, and revere their ancestors and the heroes of old."

You'll have to use your imagination to picture the look on my face, I'm afraid.

"Did you just say…children…of…gods? God plural? _Children_?"

"Yes."

"Hahaha," I said nervously, after a long silence. "Oh. You're making a joke. That's funny. Ha. The only reason I didn't laugh was because I was afraid my sides would split."

"Marlin, I'm being serious here." Murphy said firmly, crossing his arms. "I mean, you can see me, so that's a sure-fire sign. You've probably been kicked out of every school you've ever been to, and a collection of weird happenings and people have probably followed you around. I bet you have an amazing talent as well, but have been unable to explain it, and you most likely have dyslexia because your mindset is more cut out for Ancient Greek. And, you live with just one of your parents, but the other mysteriously disappeared shortly after your birth. The evidence is there. Q.E.D."

…

What.

The.

F –

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU-"

Murphy chuckled, and casually raised a hand to calm me. "You do know that you drool when your mouth hangs open like that, do you?"

I batted way his arm. "Time out, Mr Whatever the Heck You Are. Olympians who exist I can take, but me? The child of a _god_?"

"I know, strange isn't it?" the satyr replied with a grin.

"No shit, Sher- Hey! You're insulting me again!"

Murphy tilted his head back again and laughed a deep laugh. "The point is, Marlin, one of your parents is a god. Or a goddess. And there's nothing you can do about it."

"So…my dad, he lied…? Did he know?" I sobbed. Murphy placed a hand on my shoulder, which only made me feel worse.

"I don't know, Marlin. Most Olympians never reveal their true identities to the mortals they fall in love with. But that's why you're here, Marlin. To find out."

"How long will that take?" I mumbled.

Murphy gave a nervous chuckle, which sounded almost like a bleat. "Well, uh…"

He lifted his hand off my shoulder, and turned around quickly. "How about we come over here and meet Chiron, eh?"

"Chiron? Sounds like a toilet cleaner…"

Murphy gave a face that was more blanched than an almond. "I assure you; this Chiron is not a bottle or bleach or has anything to do with items of toiletry."

"Then what is he?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"A centaur."

I paused. It gave me enough time to realise Murphy's straight face and a certain something about myself that I should've noticed much, much earlier.

"I should really stop drinking Mountain Dew at four in the morning."

Murphy gazed at me.

"_What_?"

"Yes. I admit it. That's why I'm believing all this nonsense about the Greek gods, my mom and those _fake _hooves on your feet. This is some sick joke played upon my sugar-induced mind!"

"Marlin, this isn't a-"

"It's over, okay?" I replied, throwing my hands up in the air. "I'm going. See ya!"

I was just about to stomp off when Murphy grabbed the back of my t-shirt collar.

"Aaaaah! Leggo ameeeeee!"

"Since when did you speak Italian?"

"It's not funny anymore!" I protested, struggling.

"Marlin, this is not a joke." Murphy said, but by hell that was not going to persuade me.

"Then prove it to me!" I declared, twirling around. Murphy raised his thick brown eyebrows, amused.

"Alright then."


	3. I Wake Up and Smell the Strawberry Latte

**Chapter Three: I Wake Up and Smell the Strawberry Latte**

Okay. I admit defeat.

It was the strawberry fields that did it.

As the satyr guided me along the sandy lanes that made up Camp Half-Blood, I couldn't help but take in the godly aroma of my favourite fruit in the world.

Until I realised what adjective I had just applied to it.

"Is it even possible to…to…" I quibbled, pointing a quavering finger at the fields. Strawberries that were more crimson than blood bulged out of the bushes in the distance.

"Why don't you come and observe, then?" Murphy dared, smirking at me as he darted towards them.

"Wait!"

I sprinted after him; the temptation to stop and smell the fields again was overwhelming.

Murphy was much faster than I had suspected; his hooves made him amble across the cobbled footpath like tarmac; whilst I unceremoniously almost twisted my ankle.

"Bugger!" I said, as I feel to the ground with all the bearings of a clumsy mongoose.

I paused.

The sensation of somebody looming over me crept up me, sending shivers up my spine.

Slowly, I looked up.

And found –

"OH MY GOOOOOOOOOODS! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!"

The shriek was so high pitched, I had to close my eyes, cover my ears and yell, "WHAT THE-"

The shriek promptly ended, and I was yanked up from the ground by a strong, chocolate coloured arm, only to meet a pair of icy blue eyes.

"Uh. Hello?"

The person was breathing heavily, her hands waving up and down as if to calm herself. Unfortunately, to me she looked like she was trying to fly.

To my surprise, the girl was a satyr; the small horns protruding from her curly black hair told me that much. Her orange Camp Half Blood t-shirt looked almost fluorescent against her dark skin, a necklace with cubic beads strung on it.

On one of them, I could've sworn I saw a picture of a centaur wearing a prom dress.

In between breaths, she said, "Oh…emm…geee…I'm _so _sorry, it's just that….that we haven't…haven't had any new campers in _absolutely freakin' ages_!"

She grasped me by the shoulders and started shaking me back and forth, seemingly oblivious to my horrified expression.

"Um." I said weakly.

The satyr finally paused. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry. I get so excited when this happens. _Anyway_," she said brightly, throwing in a smile for good measure. "My name is-"

"Chloe Harper." Murphy said. The satyr named Chloe spun around to look at him, casually leaning against the wall of a gardening shed.

"Murphy! We have a new camper! YAY!" She exclaimed, dashing over to him.

"I know, I know…"

"What's his name?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Murphy said flatly.

"Oh yeah!" Chloe answered, walking back to me.

She seemed to totally miss the fact that I had no idea what was going on.

"What's your name, honey?" she asked sweetly.

"Uh…I'm Marlin Mason. _Ravished _to meet you."

Chloe gave me an odd look. "_Ravished?_"

My vocabulary did the splits. "Oh, shit, wrong word. Excuse me for a moment…"

I pulled my Highly Convenient Thesaurus out my trouser pocket, and looked up the word, 'ravished.'

"Let's see…raped to meet you? Oh gods, no…erm, ecstatic to meet you? Nah, too flamboyant…how about…ah HA!" I pointed demonstratively at the page, and looked up at Murphy and Chloe from over the top of the thesaurus. "Let's try that again, shall we?"

After stowing the book away in my pocket, I cleared my throat and crossed my arms, smiling for the satyrs' added anticipation of my supreme linguistic prowess.

"Ahem. I'm Marlin Mason. _**Elated **_to meet you."

Chloe's mouth hung open.

"You keep a _thesaurus _in your pocket?"

I knitted my brow. "Why the hell not? What self-respecting author doesn't? I mean, how can I possibly hope to publish my guide to growing hyacinths without finding alternative adjectives for the colour pink? _Honestly_!"

The two satyrs gaped at me.

"Um, Marlin?" Murphy said.

"What?"

His eyes gestured past my shoulder, his cheeks seemingly burning with embarrassment.

I looked behind me, and found a centaur.

A centaur wearing a tweed jacket over his russet coloured fur, with four powerful legs that were topped off with four mighty hooves. His face was old and wizened, like he had taken the onslaught of millennia but refused to back down. Did I mention he had a human torso, complete with two human arms that carried a shimmering bronze javelin.

He smiled at me.

And that was when I suppose I woke up and smelt the metaphorical coffee, or whatever caffeinated beverage it is that people insist on using in these analogy thingies. Strawberry flavoured coffee, that is, straight from the Starbucks of Reality and delivered by the Satyr of Oh-My-God-I'm-Not-On-Dope, fresh from the very fields before me, after which I tasted the truth and realised who I was.

Look, the whole point of this stupid metaphor is that I fainted.


	4. I Really Tick Off Dionysus

_Disclaimer: __Percy Jackson and the Olympians belongs to Rick Riordan._

**Chapter Four: I Really Tick Off Dionysus**

The concrete trees were swaying gleefully, the honey pots swelling with pride, I didn't know what they meant to me but the gibbons were jogging and cried; the jelly topped mountains cruised on in the mud to the pancake of darkness and death, the blackness fell out with an echoing thud and history belongs to the rest…

It then occurred to me that I could possibly be dreaming. Possibly.

"Wuidggfasc?" I mumbled, opening my eyes.

"He's alive." A silky smooth voice said.

"Damn!" a gruff voice barked. "I lost the bet."

"That'll be a thousand drachmas, dear colleague." The first voice answered smugly. The person who cussed grunted something else, and I could make out through my hazed vision a porky, black haired man dumping a bag of coins angrily into the waiting lap of youth in white clothing. Looking to my right, my eyes found the face of the centaur in the tweed jacket from earlier.

Oh God, they're still playing this game with me. Perhaps it would've been much better if I had died from shock, despite how highly unlikely that was. I could've lived it up in heaven, the fat man would've won his bet and this bloke wouldn't have to smile at me so patronisingly. Everybody wins.

Who knows, maybe I should stick around and hope something interesting happens. Like my inevitable death. Or meeting Big Foot.

"Okay, this isn't funny anymore. Where the hell's Murphy? I wanna shove a pencil case up his-"

"Dear child, whatever do you find so humourous?" the centaur asked, raising his bushy eyebrows. My sight had regained fully, just in time for me to notice the lemony brightness of the youth's hair and the arctic whiteness of his two beautiful wings. Weirdly, I felt like I had seen him somewhere before.

I was about to say something like 'Wuidggfasc?' again until the centaur butted in.

"Don't worry, a lot of people are surprised when they first see me. My name is Chiron, activities director of here, Camp Half-Blood. You should settle in nicely, seeing as you didn't burn to smithereens after I gave you some nectar in your unconsciousness. What is your name?"

"Chiron?" I said, my eyes widening. "You mean that guy who taught the heroes how to wave swords 'n' stuff?"

Chiron sighed, knitting his brow. I knew immediately that he had just sorted me into the 'retarded' pile. "Yes, child. I'm that guy." He wiped away his frown with another smile. "But you must tell me your name. I'm afraid Murphy wasn't too clear on the details when he told me about you."

I bolted upright. As I did, I noticed that I was sitting on a deck chair on the porch of some building. The table where the winged youth and the grumpy man were sitting was behind Chiron, and the unmistakable scent of alcohol wafted my way. Looking to my left, I saw Murphy leaning against the wall, towering over me in his observation.

"Still wondering where to shove that pencil case?" he said with a sly grimace.

I looked between him and Chiron, gob smacked. "You two know each other?"

"Duh. We live in the same camp. We satyrs do stuff here all the time, y'know."

I looked between Chiron and Murphy again, too focused on the spinning gears of my current thought to take in what he has just said. Back and forth, back and forth; until it all made sense. It was the only possible conclusion available, the one that completed the puzzle….

I pointed at Murphy, and glared.

"You were stalking me on Facebook!"

Murphy's eyes somehow did the splits. "No I wasn't!"

"It was definitely you!" I countered, narrowing my eyes at him. "There was some guy sending me ads in Ancient Greek, trying to sell me discount ambrosia!" My accusing finger moved upwards at Murphy's head. "And he had ginger hair!"

"Now then boys, don't-"

Whatever Chiron said wasn't heard. Murphy scowled, and I stood up from the deck chair, taking a step forward. "Don't you dare insult my hair!" the satyr snapped.

"Really _frizzy _ginger hair!" I cried, pointing even harder at him.

"Hey!"

"Like a bush!"

"You're one to talk! You look like a girl!"

I gasped. "Why you _little-_!"

"A little girly girl wearing a tutu!"

"Right, that's-"

"SHUT UP!" Chiron yelled. It was so loud that I clutched my ears, for fear they had blown off. "Enough with this tomfoolery! Child, sit back down!"

"Aww, Chiron, I was enjoying that…." The man with the gruff voice said, chortling.

My ears pink with embarrassment, I slowly crept back into the chair, feeling like a toppled sandcastle. Chiron took a deep breath, trying to smile again. Murphy mouthed something to me, probably a death threat or some ancient never-ending curse of eternal punishment. Who knows?

"You still haven't answered my question. What is your name?"

"Marlin Mason…" I said quietly.

And then someone burst out laughing.

"Your name is _Marilyn Manson_?"

I looked over Chiron, and saw the face that belonged to the voice.

Upon seeing it, I sat back down, terrified.

"No!" I said quickly. I did _not _want to tick this guy off. He was that sort of type. Hey, read on a few more paragraphs, and see for yourself how I totally screw myself up! Otherwise, we wouldn't have much of a chapter.

…See, I _knew _you love to see me suffer.

"But you _said _Marilyn Manson."

"No, I didn't. Notice the _may _in Mason?"

"Whatever you say, Mary Magdalene."

"Mary Magdalene!" I spluttered.

I couldn't help but step the mark. It was just the aura this guy gave off; it was the aura of an utter asshole. A true, certified asshole. I bolted out of the chair before I knew what I was doing.

"Are you deaf or something?"

"Oooh, the kid's gone nuts." The man taunted. He sipped at a can of Diet Coke on the table, and then looked at it as if it ought to be burnt for witchcraft, or attached to an atom bomb and flung into space. "You sure you didn't overload the punk's brain with nectar, Chiron?"

"Ah-"

"Good job. We could do with one less 'demigod' running about. That kid Johnson blows enough stuff up as it is."

"Don't you mean Jackson?" the winged man said.

"Jetson, whatever." By now I was ready to toss the guy into a vat of scalding jam, but sadly no such thing was on hand.

"You should seriously get a hearing aid!" I said without even thinking.

Mentally, I strangled myself.

The man stopped. He turned his face to me, and now it is time for you to see exactly why pissing this guy off is not a good idea at all.

Two deep shot, watery eyes seemed to simmer at me. And his plump, crimson cheeks only made him look like he was boiling.

"What did you say?" He said coldly. It was more of a statement than a question. The winged man suddenly became enthralled by the windowsill.

Murphy made like an almond and blanched. "Marlin, I really think you should-"

The man got up from the table, his grape coloured eyes now bubbling with rage, the scent of alcohol only getting stronger. He crushed the can with one hand, brown fizzy liquid oozing over his chubby fingers.

There was something infinite about those eyes. I could stare and stare and stare, and never have any hope of getting out…

The illusion was broken by a falling curl of the man's black hair.

"Do you know who I am?"

I shook my head feebly. My mind was focused too much on the fact that my limbs were getting weaker and weaker by just being in the man's prescence.

"No…" I croaked.

A small grimace tugged at the man's lips. "Well. Let me tell you. I'm quite important 'round here, you know. _Verrrry _important. Do you know what happens when you mess with _important_ people? Especially ones who could possibly come from…say…you know…up _there_? Hm?"

The ends of his blue Hawaiian t-shirt flapped aimlessly in some ethereal wind. I stared in horror, feeling like someone had shoved a stick down my throat.

"Worked out who I am yet?"

That was when I made my first mistake at Camp Half-Blood.

I let my eyes slide over to the winged man.

He had a young, porcelain face and a warm smile, but like all ceramics, I could tell there was definitely something cracked about him. He was clad in moon-white robes with gold symbols sown into them, possibly in Greek, which only made him look paler. When he caught me looking at him, he smiled at me, showing off all his Hollywood whites. A pure gold quiver of arrows was slung over his back, their flights replaced with small hearts. And - _wow_…were those nails _manicured_? You can't get eyes that blue. He was bound to be wearing coloured contacts. That hair simply couldn't be real. No one could have hair that blonde and not be seen fifty miles away. In short, he could easily qualify for a Vain Bastard of the Year award.

And suddenly I knew why he seemed familiar. I had seen his face on almost every Valentine's Day card in the world, albeit much, _much _younger. And with less clothing.

Of course, I just had to say his name aloud at that precise moment.

"You're Cupid. The god of love."

At which the psychotic man pulled an expression I had never thought possible on a human face, until I remembered that this guy was no human; a look of emptiness but a maddening concentration at once, a gravity that bore upon the very fibre of my soul as his plump lips hung slightly ajar, his frown deeper than the deepest abyss you can imagine.

I used everything inch of being to not die on the spot.

"What."

Note the lack of question mark. This guy was beyond questioning.

I gaped, and felt every inch of my face glow blood red.

"I – uh, I, oh, I meant, er, I, oh, shit."

"I AM NOT CUPID!"

I gave a little shriek, and toppled to the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'M SORRY!"

"Why the HECK did you think I was Cupid?" the man growled, and I could imagine little puffs of steam whistling out of his ears like a kettle.

"I didn't mean you! I meant the, uh, other guy!" I pointed at Cupid desperately, hoping for his aid. Unfortunately, he just seemed to be rather amused.

"Cupid is my Latin name. Personally, I hate it." He replied in his rich voice. "Most call me Eros. Or Mr E. Whatever suits you."

He turned to me slightly, looking sophisticated and composed, with his chin resting on his fist. A light breeze swept gracefully by just then. It was a Kodak moment.

If not for the fact that the guy's hair didn't move a bit. Goddammit, that had to be hair-gel.

"Who cares about you, pretty boy?" the man said. Finally, something I could agree with. "This punk here has made a serious mistake. I've never been so gravely insulted for…for, well a good ten years or something. Which is longer than Marilyn Monroe here has been breathing mankind's precious oxygen."

"For your information, I'm thirteen years old." I corrected him, and then slapping myself for almost standing on another land-mine.

"Fourteen, whatever. Get out of my sight!" The man scowled at me again, as if deciding some cruel fate for me, and sat himself down on his table, summoning another can of soda out of thin air.

I finally had enough courage left to look at Murphy. He was just as terrified as I was.

Chiron looked up at me, and pulled a face, pretending nothing had actually happened. "Well, er…right then! Onto business. Business! Marlin, I believe you've met Chloe Harper?"

"Indeed." I replied. I braced myself for more squealing while I was at it.

"Good, then there will be no need for introductions. Chloe will escort you around the camp."

"Right then…" I sat up from my chair, smiled feebly at Murphy, and walked over to the approaching Chloe, very certain that a pair of deep purple eyes was skewering me from every angle.

At least I worked out that he was the god of wine.


End file.
